Gunpowder Perfume
by Tsunderellah
Summary: Contrary to what the fairy tales say, the prince never looked for Cinderella. On his twenty-fourth birthday, he pays the ultimate price for this mistake. (An Elsword Debut!) AU. Blade-Paladin as main pair. HIGH T RATING.
1. Prologue

**Tsu, or 'Llah' as most of my NA peeps in Elsword call me, brings forth a new spew of insane thoughts on internet paper. Yes, yes it's been a while- but this is the first fiction I have for the Elsword category. I absolutely am in love with Elsword- the people and the gameplay. It's pretty awesome. Have an Solace Server account? PM me, and we shall be the bestest of friends~ (My main has the same name as my penname)**

**Also, this story comes with a warning: Genderbending, sex and graphic assault scenes will occur. Discretion is advised. Also, I've decided to introduce a pair naming system. Basically, Iron Master is IPxBM. Kk? If you pair Code Empress with Wind Sneaker (Which I sorta do), it'd be Code Sneaker- or Wind Empress. Something lovely like that. Okie?**

**Also, since you've gotten this far, you thereby authorize the contents of this fiction to enter your conscious mind. Flames are most definitely not accepted- for Karma is always painful. ;)**

**Finally, this is an AU-ish, in the sense that one, the War of the El (story line of the game) is over, and two- there is no such thing as the El gang. None of them, unless mentioned, have met.**

**Enough of my rambling, here's your fic.**

**Love love,**

**-Llah**

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**_"Turn and peep, turn and peep,_**

**_There's blood within the shoe."_**

_-Cinderella, Grimm Fairy Tales Version_

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Carriages were arriving from the opened arching gates, stopping at the foot of a marble stairway, the banisters made from imported Bethmian ivory. Ladies and gentlemen of distinguished noble families from the farthest reaches of Elrios dismounted their carriages, their faces hidden behind elaborate masks, decorated with jewels mined from far-flung regions; their clothes made from the finest Hamelian silk. The ladies had especially prepared themselves. Before tonight, they had spent the entire week prior choosing the best gowns to show off their figures- many of them chose to undergo a diet of vinegar and mint tea to make themselves look paler and thinner, and the most elaborate brooches and jewelleries to show off their wealth. They had been busy the entire day. They scrubbed their bodies clean with pumice and rosewater, moisturized their fair skins with goats' milk and perfumed oils, hollered for servants to brush their hair until the protein strings resembled fine silkworm threads, placed their bodies under much turmoil to fit into a dress two sizes smaller than their usual- all a small sacrifice for the chance to become the Crown Prince's bride.

Today was the twenty-fourth birthday of the esteemed Crown Prince Raven, a figure so enchanting for his nobility and prowess in battle that he is forever etched in history, having brought the kingdom of Velder so many victories during the War of The El. He was known for his fierce gentleness, for his strong sense of justice and his admirable, handsome visage- a magnificent bird worthy only of the finest cage. Today, as the King had announced, the prince will choose a wife to be his queen amongst the ladies invited to the event. For a certain lady, definitely, tonight will be a very enchanting, almost magical moment.

Raven just knows he is going to despise his future wife.

The prince sat at the corner of the room, watching as the courtier announced the entrance of yet another noble family, the lady of the house linked arm and arm with his father, swathed in the finest fabrics and smelling of expensive spices and flowers. He swirled a glass of red wine in his hand, eyes scanning the crowd with the minimal amount of interest. Ladies of all shapes and sizes surrounded him, talking amiably with him- as if they had known him all of their lives.

"…and the poor of this kingdom must definitely be swept off the streets, as the foreign merchants must report their states of uncleanliness back to their kingdoms. It is a shame that some have so little to eat. I hope your future queen would be able to look into these issues…" One had said, obviously trying to imply that she is a perfect choice for the throne. Raven, for the umpteenth time that night, rolled his eyes and bit his tongue, the ruthless retort forming in his head forced back into the corners of his mind.

Raven just knows he is going to despise his future wife. Especially if they are all like these mindless, pampered twits surrounding him.

It was not like he doesn't wish to be married. He does, just not now. It was a selfish wish from the king himself to see his son married off and to produce legitimate heirs to continue his era of greatness. For Prince Raven, marriage was a romanticised jail- golden bars keeping him from his freedom, which as to any other bird, is the most treasured part of their being. Were he to marry, he once told himself, it would be to the one who stirs his soul- the way liberty and adventure does.

The high-pitched laughter of a lady beside him drew him back from his thoughts. For one moment, he tried to make sense of the conversation floating around him, but after merely a few seconds, he decided to zone out. A lady was speaking about the latest fashion in Elder and while the other females found her twittering interesting, the prince found her conversation as flat as any pavement, everyone's ideas trudging along it, rousing no emotion from his heart. He had always held an illusion that ladies excelled in a host of activities, and that they must evoke from everyone around them the energies of refinement, of life and its mysteries. But these ladies, no- the nobles of the Elrios continent- knew nothing, taught nothing, desired nothing. They thought themselves happy, surrounded by elegance and the scent of flowers and fine linen, the odour of truffles and roses.

He resented the superficial existence they allude to such a fleeting, fluttering thing called 'happiness'.

* * *

A carriage lurched to a stop at the foot of the chateau's main entrance, the wooden frames creaking as it was finally given rest after miles of ceaseless travel. A figure stepped out, a gown billowing around them, an off-shoulder muslin dress with five flounces, the first one the smallest, gradually growing larger, caressing the pebbles beneath them like a forbidden lover- gently and seductively. The figure presented an invite to a waiting servant who then led the figure into a grand welcoming hall. It was lofty, paved like the steps, with marbled tiles, and the sound of footsteps and laughter echoing about. Opposite the entrance was a straight staircase, from which all the sounds came from. Carefully, but with great haste, the figure went up the stairs, gripping the ivory banister with a gloved hand, going up the steps three at a time.

As if in a hurry.

Chung, as she entered the room, felt herself immersed in the beautiful warmth of nobility, the scent of lemon-scrubbed floors and rich Camellias hanging salaciously off of the pillars, the staircases and the small tables to the side. The place was lit entirely by a grand candle-lit chandelier and the flames danced gaily within each crystal drop hanging from the elegant structure, creating a beautiful myriad of colours upon decorated walls. The candle flames were mirrored in the curve of the silver serving trays carried by numerous servants in silk stockings, knee-breeches, white cravats and frilled shirts, whose only dedication is to serve; and reflected in the sweating champagne glasses upon each tray. She felt something tap her shoulder- it was the courtier asking for her family's name. Forcing the urge to laugh, she whispered:

"Chiitose, of the Seiker family!" The courtier had yelled, but amongst the ritornello on the violin and the loud chatter of the guests, the possible controversy her name could have cost had been avoided.

For now.

A waltz had begun to play and people were standing, stretching from having sat for too long. Gentlemen were asking ladies to dance, and the ladies, coquettishly fluttered their eyelashes and shyly said yes.

Chung took a glass of champagne as she watched the dancers begin to dance at the signal of the violin, felt herself shiver from head to foot when she felt the cold taste in her mouth- as much from the refreshing, delicious cold as the dread that slept in the pit of her stomach.

"_Before twelve, or else…"_ The words of the witch echoed in her head, making her heart pound fast, her gloved hands clenched the gentle fabric of her dress.

When the waltz was over, the floor was left to the men, who clapped their appreciation for the wonderful music and chattered with each other, talking in groups. The servants brought out silver trays, laden with fresh fruits, cut and piled into shining platters; different cheeses, the rinds removed and the forms that of flowers; and slices of quail, marinated in rosemary, thyme, garlic and wrapped in soft bread. The ladies sat back down, the dull ache caused by their heels a slight discomfort. Chung sat down as well, next to a black-haired lady who was ceaselessly talking to a masked man, who did not seem afraid to show his boredom in public company. After overhearing the lady's drawling monologue, she felt her blood begin to boil.

"…and then, those poor children! Sleeping in the dank and the dark with nothing to eat but trash! How particularly dreadful! If only I had power, I could aid them to the best of my ability for I most definitely have the passion to help them." The lady said tearfully, shedding crocodile tears into an ironed cotton handkerchief perfumed with lavender. The man rolled his eyes and sighed- biting his lips to prevent possible exit of retorts. Chung, however, was unable to hold back the rush of words that left her mouth, anger coating them like hot lava would a city after a volcanic eruption, burying anything with its destructive, ceaseless flow. In a soft, controlled voice, she interrupted the lady's sob story:

"If you really, truly cared for the homeless orphans gathering crumbs from under your table, you wouldn't be flouncing around here, in a place like this, sipping the finest wine, tasting the finest culinaires. You would be giving your all to aid them- your clothes off your back if possible! That is what being passionate about a cause is. It is enacting upon it with everything you have, even if it left you with nothing!"

Her outburst surprised the lady, whose blue eyes then crinkled in irritation behind her oversized glitter mask. Left with nothing to say, she left to tell her father the Marquis of Den Ruben of the wench that humiliated her, who in turn waved his daughter away, cheeks pink with the warmth of the fire and the strength of the wine.

The masked Prince, who was startled as well by the lady's passionate and opinionated speech, approached her, closing the distance between their bodies. She was beautiful, with fine blond hair, shining like the surface of a pond at midnight as it reflected the dance of the candles. Her eyes were like the sea, a beautiful gradient of blue to dark green, pulling you into their depths like the song of a siren. She wore a white dress, her shoulders exposed. White feathers decorated the top piece of her dress, fanning out, accentuating her modest chest, their hard ends hidden behind a strap which bound the dress to her shoulders, a red rose dotted with artificial dew drops, sitting prettily at her heart, quivered whenever she breathed. She looked like other ladies- ladies that he disdained. Yet there was a certain fire within her. Her spirit felt warm- yet at the same time, dangerous. He knew that if he touched her, he would get burned, heat would singe his fingers, have the digits burst into a flame quicker than dry straw.

Like a moth, it allured Raven like nothing before.

"That was quite the snappy quip you unleashed, milady." He said, taking her hand and bowing, kissing it lightly.

Chung felt her heart beat faster at the sight of the masked man. He was handsome, to say the least. He had a beautiful face, eyes comparable to highly refined light shards of the El. His ebony hair was slicked up, glistening with superior pomade. His black satin coat with long sleeves moved with him, loose enough to be comfortable, buttoned up tight enough to show wandering eyes his sexy physique.

"Oh, I do beg your pardon, my lord. It was quite unlady-like of me to speak in such a tone…" Chung whispered, tilting her head to the side, hiding the red blush on her face.

"It was of no consequence, my lady. In fact, you saved me. Her constant talking gave me headaches." He reassured her, smiling gently as she began to turn her head to face him.

A horn sounded, announcing the beginning of another dance. People are arriving on to the dance floor, and a mob of ladies began to beeline for the masked man. Seeing no escape from them, he took the blonde lady's hand and seductively, he asked her to dance.

Chung felt hot where the stranger had touched her, holding her with just the tips of his fingers. She stepped into the line and waited for the first note to sound. At the sound of the violin, they began. She swayed to the rhythm of the orchestra, gliding away, nodding her head gently to the beat. A smile rose to Raven's lips as he held her through the dance. She was pliant- flexible as she dipped and moved through the actions. She was graceful, her skirts billowed around her. Their hands were joined, their hands were parted, their eyes that once turned away, turned back to meet gazes. Round and round they went, she holding herself erect and he, with his shoulders back and his arm curved.

Every eye was on the graceful dancers.

"You know, milady. I never properly thanked you for saving me." Raven whispered into her ear, twirled her around, looked into her ocean eyes with such intensity, she felt her knees buckle a little.

"I-It's…alright, my lord." She sighed, feeling herself dizzy from the movements and the sudden aching in her heart. She felt happy, cradled in the arms of a mysterious, handsome stranger. The room spun- everything was turning around them; the lamps, the furniture, the people. Time stopped and for a moment, the fragrance of nobility and responsibility lifted. She was dancing far away, with the same stranger, in another ethereal paradise. Her dress, at the hem, got caught on his trousers. Their legs intertwined. She looked up to her partner, who slowly licked his lips. Within those topaz eyes, she saw desire, lust and whispered promises of endless nights in passion. Chung bit her lip, struggling hard to resist temptation to yield to her feelings, the thought of Raven's mouth and how divine he would taste sent delicious shivers down her spine.

The clock then struck eleven times.

Her mission suddenly fell on her, like a bucket of water dumped on the growing fire in her heart. Suddenly, the ballroom felt stifling, the lamps too bright to look at. The intensity of the feeling in her heart magnified. Craving the coolness of the night, she broke the magic of the moment, and fled to the nearest balcony, panting heavily for some air. She heard someone call after her, but she paid them no mind, for a voice echoed in her head telling her not to forget what she had come here, on this particular night, for.

She closed her eyes, tears escaping quietly, as she felt the steel barrel of the gun tied under her dress, the words of the witch echoing heavily in her mind.

**"_Before twelve, or else."_**

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_Please review. I'd appreciate any and all criticisms as long as they are constructive. Flames will be killed and brutally murdered. Give the box some love. It feels sew lonely. o n o_


	2. Chapter I

**Tsundere here. Hope I'm not _too _late with this update. It took a lot out of me to squeeze this scene out of my head, but I hope that it's well worth it. :3 Lots of love to everyone who read this. Please review, tell me what you think, I'd really like your opinion.**

**-Llah out.**

**P.S. Shout out to my reviewers and motivators FANG ee, Desuchi and RubyCrusade, who should totally tell me their in-game names so I can stalk them ;3.**

**Forms:**

**_Chung - Base/Jobless_**

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**"Decadent flowers, bloody memories**

**As if they would go round and round forever**

**Lamentation of flowers, graven miseries**

**Silence that will never return"**

- Luka Megurine, _Corruption Garden_

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It was a dreadful day. The rain, freezing because of autumnal temperatures, fell endlessly over the grandiose cobblestones of Senacea, Hamel's largest city. During warmer and sunnier weather, the city was a hub adjoining the Elrios and the Merian continent. A beautiful market town to the south of Merian, only a few miles separated it from Elrios by boat, several of which were docked and lined along its famous harbour, bringing fish, supplies and tourists within its traditional wooden decks, who came to admire the city's beautiful architectures, eat its fresh harvests of fish and oysters in mass quantities and to loiter across the jetties, the plazas and the marketplaces, buying and bargaining for this and that. The city was vibrant, alive with the clamour and laughter of its people, shining in the sun like a pearl within the cool waves of the vast ocean. However, today, Senacea, the beautiful was in hiding. In her place was a grey sludge that covered everything it touched- the trees, the manicured lawns, the monumental establishments that seem darker than their own shadows. The wind howled and rattled windowpanes, crying with the fury of a lost child. Businessmen, merchants and peasants scuttled about with their hands, emptied baskets, or umbrellas held by a following servant, over their heads, trying to get home as quickly as human legs would allow them, most wincing as the growing puddles on the ground seeped into their shoes and soaked their feet.

Chung watched them scurry about, like a child would an endless telenovela: with detached and often distracted interest. She heard the foghorn of a boat as it docked at a harbour. Through the rush of the crowd, she saw a ship, its mast folded and its deck wooden, sailing across the bay, outwards into the rough, grey waters. The sight of a ship, common in Hamel and to Chung, nevertheless brought a flood of memories of her mother and of her youth. Memories held down by the chains built by the pain of remembering, surfaced- the bonds clattering noiselessly, echoing through the recesses of her young mind. Ships held much meaning to the girl. They represented freedom, and the childhood that over the course of one month, was stolen from her. Closing the lid and shuffling closer towards a corner inside the empty dumpster she had called home for the last few months, she was unable to stop twin streams of tears that flowed from her dulled teal eyes. One painful memory after another, the events of her young life paraded across her starved mind: her fifth birthday, the days spent playing in their hacienda's large gardens, the smile on her mother's face- they all caused a dull ache in her heart to develop, caused her to choke on her frozen breath and forced her to wail silently at the good days gone by.

She remembered her handsome father, a young politician and the King's naval commander, with strong moral beliefs and a sense of justice to rival even the poetical gods of Feita, walking down the gangplank of the _Salvatore Denif_, a cruise ship that had just returned from its cruise around the world. He was dressed in Elder's latest fashions, sporting a gold-embroidered vest and an unbuttoned royal blue dust coat, his hair was combed back as nobles did then, each of the golden strands heavy with the gloss of pomade. He held his hands outstretched for the loves of his life- the two ladies that made the stoic and poker-faced commander smile. His wife laughed loudly at the exaggerated gesture her husband had made, the knees of his designer pants, tailored by Elrians, on the grimy gang-plank, as he knelt in front of his lady, offering his hand as a prince would his fairy tale princess. His other princess, a small girl with straight blond hair and a charming toothy grin eagerly ran into her father's arms, tackling the man unto the ground, her strength surprising for someone so small. They were so happy then.

It was right before everything crumbled, which, in Chung's mind, highlighted its happiness even more, as it was a bright and startling contrast against the darkness that soon followed.

The lady of the house, Chung's beloved mother, died.

One day in September, the lady fell ill. After a consultation from the family doctor, he advised her to rest- it was merely a chill that befell her. At the end of the consultation, he had advised that she be given some lemonade with brandy- the lemon for added support for her internal battle, and brandy to help her warm up. Chung's father ordered for it to be done. A maid prepared the drink for her, cracking open an unopened bottle of brandy for the cause. After consuming the drink, the lady fell asleep shortly, with a pillow in her arms.

Chung's father was woken up at the sound of a piercing scream. The man left the comfort of the sofa- as to not disturb his wife's rest with his incessant snoring- and quickly pull off his wool cap and ran to the direction of the screech, his dagger- hidden under his blanket, a wartime practice he could never leave behind- already drawn and ready in case a fool decided to show themselves.

Nastasie, their most loyal maid, was the source of the shriek. He found her sobbing outside his wife's room. Bracing himself for the worst, he entered the room. Immediately, he noticed the smell of roses, which were out of season at the moment. He then knew that some tragedy had occurred.

His wife turned her head from side to side with the soothing, gentle motions of agony. She kept opening her mouth, as if her jaws were in pain and she needed to move them for fear of having them close forever. He husband hurried to her side, throwing himself on to his knees by the bed, clutching her hand, asking her what was wrong, trying, with his words, to help her feel better. Then gently, caressing her in an attempt to comfort her, he passed his hand over her stomach. She gasped, and cried out. He withdrew his hand, terror-stricken.

She then began to groan, faintly at first and growing louder as her shoulders began to shake. She clenched the sheets with her ivory hands, now paler than the sheets themselves. Her heartbeat was erratic and maddeningly loud.

Her blue face was drenched in cold sweat and warm tears, her eyes dilated and her teeth chattered.

She was dying.

He yelled at Nastasie to call for a doctor, who, through her tears, responded that she had already. The apothecary had come, as well as the family doctor. Chung's father had tried to look the symptoms up in a medical dictionary he inherited from his father-in-law, but found that he could not read it; the lines were dancing.

"Calm down," the doctor had said, "it is clear from the symptoms that the cause of her condition is poison. We have only to administer an antidote and she'll recover. What is the poison?"

Chung's father looked at them so hopelessly, and so tenderly- it was clear that he didn't know.

"Very well," said the apothecary, "we must make an analysis."

"Oh, do anything! Save her!"

Chung, who had been woken up by the commotion, found her way into her mother's makeshift hospital room, watched with growing fear at the room; her father on the red carpeting and lying there with his head leaning against the edge of her mom's bed, sobbing; the doctor drawing out blood through her uncharacteristically pale arms into a silver platter; the apothecary examining her mother's mouth, prodding at the ink coming from her lips, exclaiming sometimes in quiet, morbid fascination.

Nastasie, noticing the child, hid her in her skirts, covering her face with her apron and the child ears with her tear-stained hand.

Chung had seen and heard enough to connect the dots. Her mother, a woman known for her elegance and sophistication as she was for her unyielding kindness, had died, at the age of thirty-four, by dawn break.

Her husband was overcome with grief. After she was cut open and examined, it was made known in an autopsy that the poison in her stomach came from the brandy she had drunk. The man blamed himself for her death, incapable of understanding that his wife had died instead of him. That brandy was a gift, left at their doorstep along with a roasted pig and a fruit basket. He was the one who drank alcohol, not her. He was supposed to have died, yet she did. He claimed that he was guilty of killing his wife: it was a gift for him, not her, after all. She had warned him not to get involved in politics, that he would be better off alive, as a common lawyer, a family man. His howling and sobbing shook their hacienda to its foundation, fraying the nerves of the servants, and making his wife's child cry.

The mortician, who had prepared and dressed the woman for her funeral in her wedding gown, and wove a crown of wax cherry blossoms through her chocolate curls, took pity on the man and did him the gigantic favour of getting the grieving man drunk. The gin and the wine was far stronger than his suffering and guilt. The man fell to a fitful, uneasy rest.

That marked the collapse of everything she knew and loved. The months that followed her mother's death changed her enormously. Her father, realising the numbness that alcohol offered, flushed their money with every shot. She tried to manage the hacienda, to be strong for her and her father's sake- but she was a coddled child. She knew nothing of hard work. She did not know how to farm and command the fields; she did not know how to prepare meals- the servants were always the ones to do that. She was clueless, and had these been normal circumstances, that wouldn't matter. She was merely twelve, after all.

The servants, who once took care of them, realising that the master of the house had abandoned his mortal vessel, went into disarray. They neglected their duties and began to spend their afternoons sleeping and gossiping. The plants went dry from the lack of water and the spiders dropped from their secret hiding places in the ceiling and settled themselves upon the dusty corners of Chung's childhood- to the point that their silken traps had blurred the happiness that once shone through.

She lost everything.

Two months later, she woke up one morning, her gown and socks full of holes, to find that her father had left during the night. Some say that he had died, overdosing on the alcohol. Others say that they saw him begging for alms on the streets he used to own. Some say they saw him, in a fit of unbridled brokenness, jump off the pier, drowning himself to be with the one he loved.

He forgot all about his child who, in his absence was left at the mercy of debt collectors and bank solicitors. Within a few weeks, she was out of her down bed, out of a home, and living in the streets alone.

Chung wiped the tears from her eyes, the fluid intermingling with the freezing rain. Her father had destroyed her everything- her home, her education, her future, her innocence. She was rudely awakened by reality, shivering alone without the protecting warmth that she had always been surrounded by. Yet, she found it extremely difficult to hate the man, amplifying the pain even more. Deep down, she was convinced that it wasn't his fault and that she, a hopeless romantic as well, would have also drowned her miseries in alcohol. However, she would never have abandoned, under any circumstance, any child of hers.

A small cry ripped her from her painful memories. Wiping the tears from her ashen face, she slowly lifted the lid of her dumpster home and peered carefully into the dimly lit alleyway she occupied. Her eyes were caught at the sight of running cloth, stumbling and yelping away from an irate, toothless man who smelled strongly of alcohol and cheap perfume. He held within his sausage fingers the neck of a broken beer bottle, swinging it around like a drunken batter would his bat.

"Come back here, you nosy little shit! I almost had that peasant girl! Meddling brat!" The man bellowed, slurring the words with the belch of his rancid breath.

"F-forgive me, father! Forgive me!" The boy whimpered fearfully, running down the alleyway, towards what Chung knew was a dead end.

The man stumbled over garbage bins and bags of refuse, his face scrunched with fury and intent on harming the sobbing child. The horror in the boy's face intensified as he discovered the dead end, dreadfully frightened with every loud stagger the drunk man made towards him. The boy howled for help, much louder than he did previously. A roll of thunder drowned his words; the child cringing at the sudden noise, his head tucked tightly beneath a tangle of his own bony arms. He closed his eyes, waiting for the darkness, for the glass bottle to crash upon his head.

And then, silence. Even the angered skies themselves seemed to have stopped clattering and banging.

It was as if all the noise of the world had been muted.

And then, suddenly as the calm had started, a sharp crash echoed down the dank alleyway. The boy could hear the million shards of glass as they erupted from being one, unto minute shards that tinkled noisily on the wet cobblestones. Risking a glance, he opened his eyes and lifted his face from his arms, to see what has halted his father's potentially fatal onslaught. He gaped with shock when he saw a small figure, no taller than he was, with dirt-matted blonde hair down to its shoulders standing in front of him, having taken the blow of the bottle from hitting him square on the head.

In the coldest voice he had ever heard, the person who had defended him whispered: "If you are so eager to ruin your life, have the sense not to drag your son in, you disgusting brute." The boy could not see the figure's face, but he could hear the cool disgust and burning anger upon the stranger's tone.

The boy's father was at first bewildered, that the bottle did not kill his son- his son was actually, presently, very much safe, and it was all thanks to this…this meddlesome brat! The drunkard, fuelled by the booze, charged sloppily towards the blond child in front of him, grabbing a large shard of glass to attack him with from the floor. This kid's dead now!

Chung swiftly dodged, sharply veering to the right, near an empty crate of pomegranates, as the drunkard slammed his fist where she used to be, the shard bouncing out of his sloppy hand, further splitting into smaller fragments. Chung stifled the urge to wince as she felt the glass shards from the bottle pierce the underside of her foot and focused on defending the small boy, whose eyes bore holes unto her pale back. Keeping her wits about her, she quickly grabbed a garbage bin, freed it of its contents, and used it as her weapon, a poor excuse replacing the Seiker heirloom- the Destroyer, and charged, using the bin as a makeshift battering ram. The crunch of the metal crumpling against the man's chest was terrifying, but Chung was not finished. With the bottom of the trash bin, she beat him into submission, stopping only when the drunken man managed to mutter a bloody 'stop'. Blood flowed from his nose, and bruises surely starting to bloom.

However, the adrenaline rush, induced by the perils of the situation, was coming to a screeching halt and Chung, realising the potential dangers she personally faced at the moment, desperately tried to scramble away, to a more private area where she could look for rags to bandage the pains inflicted upon her; they were starting to register into her nervous system. Her feet were bleeding profusely, staining the ground with much more blood than her defeated adversary had shed. While they were used to walking on gravel and grit, minute glass shards had embedded themselves, making whatever step she took a deliriously painful experience.

What she had not noticed was the man getting up from his spot on the floor, jaw dripping with blood, as he staggered to his feet. Chung, her energy spent, her life escaping through the wounds she accumulated, could only gasp in pain as the man crashed into her, forcefully pinning her to the wall by her neck. She wriggled, tried to struggle, push, anything to get the brute away, but her strength was already long gone. She wasn't even able to whimper, as slowly her feet left the ground, dangling in the air as the dipsomaniac choked her with his large, sausage fingers.

"You act all tough, but you're only really just a helpless brat."

"Speak for yourself, asshole." Chung managed to gasp out, with the little oxygen she had. Oh well, it was worth it. The man looked so furious, he could have pissed himself. She laughed inwardly as she felt his meaty hand tighten around her neck. She was finally going to die. She was happy to see her vision swimming about, like the final flaps of a dying fish, having gone so long without water, the darkness was a relief. Her chest felt like it was going to explode, little bags so lacking of air yet so full of painful pressure. It was agonising, yet welcomed.

She was going to be with her mother again, was going to be a child once again, was…in the better sense of the world, going to 'live' again. She wasn't able to hold back a smile as her eyes closed slowly, already dreaming of the days gone past.

She was about to escape life when all of a sudden, there was a large bang and the hand had let go of her neck. She flopped to the ground, lungs gasping madly for air, heart grasping wildly at the dream snatched. She heard a thud and a weak cry for help. Summoning what little energy she had, she opened her eyes. Through the darkness, she saw that the man was gone- but the alleyway was more crowded than ever. Blurred, she saw a woman, with a hood and purple ponytails crouching over her, her hand gently touching her arm, and a man whose piercing eyes glancing quickly in all directions, checking for other troublemakers, maybe.

Barely hanging on to consciousness, Chung closed her tired eyes. In the darkness she heard the woman gently whisper in her ear: "You will become my perfect vessel. I'll take care of you."

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_No forms for you, cause it's not necessary yet, AND it's a bit too revealing to tell you now. ;) Reviews are loved and appreciated, they make me want to continue :3_


	3. Chapter II

Herro. -pulls self up from under duvet- Tsu, reporting for an update. Ugh. I thought the last one was hard to get out, but this one...this one is just..so..table-flippy. I got frustrated so many times, trying different angles, writing many drafts- it was ridiculous. In the end, I did it.~ *^* SO YOU BETTER LIKE IT.

...

Jkjk.

...

Maybe.

I want to thank everyone that gave me reviews, be they anonymous or otherwise. Thanks for inspiring me to continue.

Super special shout-out goes to Elsword NA's Fanfiction guild and my friend Desuchi~ 3 You is a frackin awesome hellyfish 3.

Form notes be damned. You can figure out their forms when you read it. Maybe not now, but later on. .

Love love,

Nauss-I mean, Llah~

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"There is no such thing as a coincidence- only the inevitable."

-**Yuko Ichihara**, _Xxholic and Tsubasa by CLAMP_

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Chung's eyes opened with a start, hurriedly taking in their immediate surroundings in a twitchy, frenzy- calming down only when her sleep-hazy brain processed what her eyes had so hastily and so greedily, taken in. She recognised her dresser -a gift from her guardians- a splintery birch desk with uneven edges tapering off wildly. Her eyes fell on her hands, clutching the edges of a linen blanket tightly, the creases it created softened by the age of the fabric. Realising what just had occurred, Chung laughed uncomfortably, her hand cradling her forehead: it was just a terrible phantasm, but what a nightmare that truly was. It had been six years since that fateful night in the dank, bloodied alleyway- down to the very day of the event that spurred an unavoidable string of circumstances that would nevertheless, no matter how much one could deny it, pull at the interwoven threads of destiny and affect the fates of those thrown into the tangled mess.

After they had revived the young girl, Chung found herself at the care of one of her saviours- Aisha, Feita village's resident genius doctor and apothecary. Penesio, the Chief Leader of the Red Knights, the only other one that had seen what had happened that night, had entrusted her into the young doctor's care. She took her in and treated her no less than a mother would her child. Because of her kindness, Chung recovered her desire to live. The young Seiker heiress, in return for all they have done, had volunteered herself to clean up their abode, a tiny cottage near the edge of Lake Waikiki, where the doctor received many patients in the tiny shed across the lake.

Chung, having recovered from her nightmare, fluffed her pillow and collapsed unto the soft material. She was about to delve into the depths of dreams when she was pulled back to the surface by the sound of a horse coming to a halt outside. Curious as to what the matter was, she quickly flung the warm sheets off her body and shivering, she opened her attic window and saw, within the thick fog of the forest, a man standing on their front porch.

"What brings you here at the dead of night, good sir?" She asked, having stuck her torso out the window and gazing at the man with a child's curiosity.

"Mademoiselle, I have here, with me, an urgent message for the honourable doctor." The man gestured to his mount's saddle bag.

"Well, I'm not sure if the doctor can see you at the moment…it is late at night, sir."

"But, it is a matter of utmost urgency! I implore you- it's a message from my master!"

Chung, realising from the expression on his dim face, that he is telling the truth, went downstairs and began to unlock the bolts. The man left his horse and went inside, handing over a sealed letter wrapped with a scrap of cloth to her. She, in one bound, flew up the stairs and began to knock on the doctor's door.

"A-Aisha..! There is a man downstairs that claims that he needs your immediate attention!" the exasperated youth stuttered, each knock becoming louder than the last. The doctor, roused by the persistent noises, hollered a simple "Yes, yes. I'm coming."

After a few moments, the purple-haired medical practitioner appeared, descending down the stairs like a phantom. Her purple hair, brushed so smooth that each side seemed to be in on one piece, was parted in a delicate line that traced the curve of her scalp. Revealing only the tip of her ears, it coiled down at the back into two ponytails. Her clothes were impeccable, her white lab coat straight, the purple silk blouse underneath and her amethyst skirts wrinkle-free. She had a picture of barely-masked annoyance sketched upon her face, her purple eyes, lined with dark circles, were unnerving at best, terrifying at worst. They pierced through you in one gaze, unravelling your soul and deepest desires with one look- it was deadly and baffling, like lightning.

The man, horribly affected by the doctor's irritated look, gathered all the guts his tiny personage of 5'6 feet could muster together, and shakily, offered her the paper envelope. The letter, which was sealed with a little red wax, begged the doctor to come to a farm in far-off Feita to set a broken leg. The doctor audibly groaned when she read the distance. Feita was a good eighteen miles across country, the road snaking its way through Pilgrim's Site and Dead Man's Hill- both areas not too attractive to travellers, especially those travelling by night, as both have been rumoured to be haunted by a witch. Aisha, being a woman of science and advancement, believed no such things.

Of course, as with everything in science, there are exceptions.

At about four o'clock in the morning, Aisha, well wrapped in her cloak and much tamer after having had her quick cup of coffee, had set off for the Feitian farm, the timid, short man riding along with her.

Still drowsy from her sudden awakening, she began to doze off, swayed by the soothing trot of her horse. The flat country stretched as far as the drowsy eye could see, and the tufts of trees round the farms seem like dark stains on an even darker canvas, fading into the perpetual void of the sky. What shook her back to reality was the horse stopping suddenly, and whinnying. Aisha woke with a start and took in her environ. She and her companion were at Pilgrim's Site. It was an eerie little town, with mist thickly wrapped around everything, as if the place were trying to conceal something. There were torches hanging against city pillars, like Velder's lamp posts but producing less light. There were no trees; no nocturnal animals- save for a couple of Jubigees they saw scuttling about the endlessly dreary alleyways- no sound, no life.

Through the break in the pillars, Aisha saw a woman, with similar plum hair peering into a well. Her face was illuminated by the torches and she was able to observe her quite clearly. Her mouth was moving, quite quickly at that, as if she was shouting at someone in the well. Her features gave no evidence to her intention, or emotion. As if feeling Aisha's eyes upon her, the woman looked at the two-man caravan, and smiled eerily. The doctor frowned and quickly averted her eyes.

A few hours later, as she passed through the Feita town proper, she saw a small boy sitting on the grass, at the edge of the sidewalk.

"Are you the doctor?" The child asked.

On the doctor's response, he took his wooden shoes and ran in front of her and the messenger. The boy, while running, began to give Aisha an anecdote on how the wealthy farmer's brother, broke his leg while he was lifting up one of the pieces of his masonry for the farm's cider press.

The boy, at the approach of the farm's gate, slipped through a hole in the hedges and disappeared; he came back to open the gate. Aisha had to stoop to pass under the branches of the numerous trees that seem to have been planted at random intervals. The watchdogs flew out of their kennels and were barking, the chains around their necks dragging and clattering noisily, maddened by the scent of a stranger, but a woman's shout stopped them dead, and numerous cats leapt all around and hid among the flowers, frightened by the authority in the voice.

The farm looked well off. In the stables, one could see horses of various colours feeding from the gleaming horse-troughs. By the outbuildings, large pile of fresh hay laid there, where fowls, turkeys and peacocks were foraging on top of it. Hundreds of sheep were gazing at a nearby pasture along with brown cows; they chewed through the dewy grass which, like a crystal, scattered the sunlight in a magnificent sparkle. The courtyard sloped upwards, unto a plantation of apple trees, which at the moment, were covered in beautiful blossoms. They framed a sparkling pond, where the chattering of geese could be heard.

A young lady in a simple red tunic came to the porch of the house to welcome the doctor, whom she led through the kitchen where a big fire was blazing, and upstairs where the master of the house, the one with the broken leg, was bemoaning his fate.

Aisha found him in his bed, sweating profusely underneath his duvet. He was a short man of about nineteen years old, with fair skin and red eyes, his hair flaming up in a ridiculous fashion. By his bedside, a large bottle of brandy stood, where he poured himself a small amount from time to time- to keep his spirit up, but the moment he saw the doctor enter the bedroom, he stiffened and began to bite his lip.

"Good morning, good sir." Aisha calmly said, a typical greeting ingrained upon her lips due to her particular occupation, as she set her things on the floor.

"…Wow. I didn't know girls were smart enough to be doctors…" The man, through fevered eyes, told the purple-haired practitioner, who retaliated flawlessly with a quick pressure on the injured leg.

"Well then. I hope you're fine with amputation, because apparently I'm not smart enough to cure your leg." Aisha, with a demonic glimmer in her purple eyes, produced a large knife and a thin-blade saw from her medical kit and placed it on the bedside counter next to the patient.

The young man could only gawk in horror.

"I'm joking. The fracture is simple, much simpler than I expected it to be. The way your messenger delivered it though, I thought that your leg was shot- or worse, being eaten by maggots. But it seems as if it's just a simple break. It'll heal soon, so don't worry." With a forced smile, Aisha spared no time. She lifted the heavy covers from his legs and rolled up his sleep-pants. With the tenderness of a mother with her child, she tended to the broken leg, ignoring the curses of anger and pain being flung behind her head. After a few hours, the broken leg was well on its way into recovering.

It was easy to fix, no complications whatsoever, and needed only a couple of bandages and splints. The doctor couldn't have asked for anything easier.

The young lady form earlier re-entered the room and, surprised at the speed at which the doctor worked, invited her to have a bit of something to eat before she left.

"Sis, don't invite her. She was rude and whatnot!" The bed-ridden boy remarked at his sister, pushing herself up with his arms, the sheets covering his chest rolling off in an unceremonious slump. Aisha couldn't help but notice the milky-whiteness, the smooth texture of his skin and the small muscles decorating his midriff. The boy, noticing her looking at him, snatched his sheets and flung it over his head.

"Shut up, Elbrat. I'm paying for your leg, so I decide whether she stays or not!" His big sister hollered, approached him, and gave him a quick hit on the head. She then escorted the doctor downstairs, to the dining room. Knives, forks and goblets were laid out for three people on a grand walnut-wood table. The patient's sister ordered a servant to refresh her brother and to bring him down immediately.

The servant, after a few minutes, plopped the young boy down on the empty seat across the doctor, whom he began to glare at ominously.

The three of them ate sombrely, talking about the most banal things like the weather, the harvest, and the cholera that was spreading across the country at the moment. Then, the doctor, noticing the silent patient, decided to engage him in conversation.

The patient, whose name was revealed to be Elsword, apologised for his earlier behaviour- of course prompted by his sister, Elesis. It was also then revealed to the doctor that he did not really like Feita, that he wanted to go to Velder and train under the Red Knights- it was his dream.

Aisha noticed that, while he was talking about his ambition, he had a far-off look in his eyes that seemed so childlike. She pushed a growing sensation at the pit of her gut away, afraid of what it may be or what it may cause.

After the meal, she thanked the two siblings for their hospitality. Elesis gave her 14 sou-pieces for the leg. After mounting her horse, she noticed that she was missing her riding whip. She hopped off and began to rummage around the foyer, under the large cabinets, behind raincoats.

"What are you looking for?" The patient asked appearing behind her in a rolling chair, with bike wheels- a toy he built when he was young to play with, now his main mode of transport.

"My whip, if you please," she answered.

He also began to search over counter-tops, behind curtains and in the lounge chairs. It had fallen from the hook unto the high-shelf, where the porcelain dishes are. Aisha tried to reach for it, touching the edge of her whip with her pale fingertips. The patient, noticing the mademoiselle's distress, also pushed himself up from his chair and stretched out his arm. At the same moment, he felt his chest brush against the back of the young doctor in front of him. She quickly turned, alarmed- causing the boy to topple over her, her whip in his hand. The doctor, scarlet with the rush of the event as well as the conflicting emotions, drew herself up and helped replace him unto his seat. He chuckled at the incident and handed her the whip. She scoffed, mounted her horse and disappeared, the smile of a red-headed brat etched into her brain, occupying her thoughts more than it really should.

"Che. It's not like he's cute or anything."


	4. Chapter III

**Hai. Tsu here. Drunk off her butt on Red Bulls. o3o Woot.**

**SOEZ. Last night, Desuchi and I were in spar and things happened. I'm pretty sure someone was smoking some ElWeed in the sparring area. That's my most logical explanation for what happened. We ended up bartering and trading on the elusive Eve's metal buttocks and the rare but valuable Chung's shotalicious butt- under the table of course. If Camilla saw that, she'd want some too. Anyways. Here's my end of the deal. A rare early-update on Gunpowder Perfume. Yesh, yesh. It's early. Now hush. o/o**

**This chapter is dedicated to all my reviewers, who always seem to make my day. Special shout out goes to Breathless Blade for being amazingly supportive.**

**Love,**

**Tsu.**

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**We pretend not to realize how we really feel **

**And suddenly, we fell in love**

_-Let Me Be With You_, Chobits

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Instead of returning to the Feitian farm Aisha visited to mend a certain red-head's leg in three days, as she had promised, she returned the very next day- and then, regularly- three times a week, without counting the visits into the payment- as if she had only been passing by pure coincidence. Everything went well. Elsword's leg healed perfectly- exactly by the book. At the end of the two months, the young man was seen, with a purple-headed woman firmly holding him by the shoulders, walking around his estate, shuffling slowly underneath the apple trees now growing heavy with fruit. The young doctor was praised immensely by the farm hands- and even the strict Elesis claimed to her fellow lady-friends, who came for tea at one point, that the big-shot doctors from Altera could not have cured her dear brother any better – even from Elder!

As for Aisha, she never once questioned why she was visiting so much- or why she, a woman of rigorous schedules and impeccable organising, left in haste at the end of an appointment, hollered for Chung to hitch her horse, and rode hard across flat, dusty country to see a recovered patient. She never once stopped and asked herself why she would do such a thing- if she did, she would, no doubt, have attributed her visits to the gravity of the boy's injury. She would never, however, be able to deny the sweet rush of happiness she gets the moment she gets her horse after a long day at work, riding fast with the wind wrapping around her, playing with her hair as she whipped pass trees, farms, and people. She was completely refreshed by the time she entered their courtyard. He, still walking around with a long wooden cane, would greet her at the first steps of their front porch with that wide smile he often wore when she was around.

It continued like this, well after Elsword's leg had healed. By that time, they were like old friends, whispering secrets, chuckling at jokes, and living life under the rosy down of the fallen leaves of autumn. Anyone with eyes, or at least ears to hear the hushed gossips of the servants during their afternoon breaks, would have been able to deduce, from the proud young master's constant stuttering and the pink hue on the doctor's cheek that it was most definitely more than a simple relationship between a doctor and her client. Neither was it merely friendship, as the complexity of their relationship, as well as the distracted aura that Aisha and Elsword radiated- was much more than something so basic as a simple friendship. It appeared as if the two of them were slowly falling for one another.

In October, right after the frost had melted in the morning sun, and the cool autumn air seeped under the cracks of doors and windows, Elsword showed up at the doctor's front porch, holding a bouquet of purple asters. Chung was the first one to see him. She was gazing at the rising sun when she heard the distinctive clop of horseshoe on the frozen dirt path connecting their house to society. She let her eyes fall on the red-headed stranger, who was gazing forward with such an intent stare; he seemed very anxious. When he stopped at the foot of the front staircase into their home, Chung couldn't help but chuckle. He sat on his horse, glaring at the ground as if daring it to rise up. With a determined face, he glanced at the window of the cottage, fixed his flaming hair a little and knocked at the door.

"It's a Saturday today, sir. Unless it's urgent, the doctor is unavailable- especially so early in the morning." Chung quietly notified the gentleman from her place in the attic window, startling the red head to the point where his cheeks deepened in colour.

"M-mademoiselle, sorry to be a bother, but I wish to speak to the doctor about something important…" The red-head quickly said, looking up to the girl with a serious demeanor.

_Aha! I told Vodia that he was into the mistress! She owes me some money! _Chung thought gleefully, thoroughly amused at the fact that the rumours- the hearsay that had been floating all over Elrios for such a long time, had a possibility of being true. Chung was glad that Aisha was able to find someone to love, and for that someone to also love her back.

In Chung's opinion, no one deserved love more than the doctor, her friend. Aisha was born, along with a sister, unto a duchess and a duke who simply did not understand her. Her family life was different in the sense that she and her sister were illegitimate; children who proved their own mother a whore. If it was not for her purple hair- a colour that no one in their family had, she would have otherwise proved her difference from the rest of the family with their powers. Aisha was able to predict lightning storms, earthquakes and natural disasters- which was handy to know when they had to lock up the good porcelain. On the other hand, she also can cause storms with her emotions. If she gets too upset, lightning, gales that rip off roofs from houses, flash floods- they occur. For her powers, for the magic that was supposed to make her unique- supposed to make her a beloved member of a family, it alienated her: she was shipped off to a dormitory school at the age of seven. She never saw anyone from her family again, the only connection she had with her family was the money she received monthly, which promptly stopped when she reached the tender age of eighteen. To make herself a valuable person in society, without the prestige of a title to protect her from the harshness of reality, she aspired to be a doctor. Having the grades for it, she applied for medical school in Hamel and quickly got accepted with a scholarship. With the leftover money she saved from the monthly allowances she used to receive, she rented a room, on the fourth floor of an old building in Hamel, overlooking the murky jetties on the poor side of Senacea. She made arrangements, bought furniture- a table and two chairs, a cherry –wood bed and a stove with a supply of wood for the winter. By dint of hard work, she excelled in everything – anatomy, physiology, pharmaceutical sciences, botany. She scored highly on all the examinations and thus earning the title of 'doctor'.

For all the trouble she's been, she had never truly found someone who will adore her entire being, and the mere fact that Elsword is showing such care for her truly makes Chung, a person whom she had shown so much care for, so very happy.

But, to have some fun, Chung decided to see how far she could push the young red-head before he collapses with embarrassment. She leaned out of the attic window, further than she usually does and smirked at the gentleman, who looked at her; confused.

"Why do you want to see the doctor so early in the morning, hmm? And on a Saturday too." Chung inquired playfully, posing with her index finger on her chin- as if she was trying to think of his reason why.

"B-b-because…I-I need to..!" The flustered boy stuttered, averting his eyes to the shimmering glass panes of the window, glimmering in the early sunlight.

"Oh, really…won't you tell me?"

"Why do I need to tell you my business?"

"Oh well then. I guess you'll just have to wait for her to wake up." Chung imitated a yawn, and slowly she withdrew herself into her room.

"Wait! Please. I beg of you. I-I only want to surprise the doctor with a small picnic…thing. Please, don't tell her, but please wake her up. I really don't want to wait any longer." Elsword quickly said, sometimes stumbling over his words, rouge all over his face and neck.

Chung giggled. "Ah, you're asking the mistress for a date, aren't you not?"

A startled expression, followed by a meek "P-perhaps."

The blonde girl quickly changed out of her night clothes, dressed in a green muslin dress up to her ankles, and dashed across their wooden corridor, down the staircase and unto their front door. She undid all the bolts and let the young man come in. She quickly set a kettle to boil, along with some of the tea leaves she bought yesterday from the market. She opened the pantry and served the guest with small slices of cakes that was supposed to be for patients when they are consulting. The blonde child then clambered up the stairs and without warning, unceremoniously bursted into Aisha's room, humming a sweet romantic song she heard over the radio.

The doctor drowsily glanced at the girl, and quickly, she flipped over. "Chuuuuuuuuuuunggggghhh. Whhat are you doiiiiingggggg…" Aisha groaned into her pillow, curling the soft material around her head, to protect her ears from the noisy onslaught.

"Aisha, it's a Saturday and it's nice to spend weekends outside, right?" Chung chirped as she threw Aisha's cabinet open, and began to pull clothes out of it, flinging the one she find disagreeable or inappropriate for the event, at the purple-haired lump on the bed.

"CHUNG. WHAT ARE YOU DOING." The doctor dead-panned from underneath her pillow, feeling clothes slowly piling up on top of her.

"Aisha needs to look her best today, so maybe she should wear this instead..!" Chung mumbled happily to herself, ignoring the slightly annoyed voice behind her.

Having had enough of her silliness, the doctor flung her sheets, along with the mountain of clothes on top of it, and quickly shut her closet-thus preventing the onslaught.

"I SAID. WHAT ARE YOU DOING." Aisha growled, her eyes dangerous and annoyed, but the other girl chuckled, completely oblivious to her agitation. "Ah, this one's cute. Wear this!~" Chung cheerfully twittered, flinging a blue lace dress with a sweetheart neckline at her. "Come down to breakfast, okay? I have a surprise for you."

"I hate surprises…" The doctor muttered, crawling back into bed.

"But you're gonna like this one, for sure." The blond girl assured her before hopping down the stairs, in a very cheerful manner.

Curiousity had always been Aisha's weakness. Like a child at Christmas, she felt the strange urge to go and check out what this 'surprise' will be, but her pride wasn't allowing her to. So when she heard Chung go into her room, she quickly dashed out of bed, in her night gown, to see what the surprise was.

Blushing even redder than a beetroot, Elsword could only mumble one thing: "W-white…"

After she heard squealing, Chung walked out of her room, with a smug look upon her face._ I knew that she was gonna do that, Aisha secretly adores surprises. She just likes denying it cause she thinks it's childish. _The young girl couldn't hold back her laughter as Aisha, in her night clothes of only a shirt and panties, stood frozen like a glorious statue at the top of the stairs and Elsword, redder than she had ever seen anyone before, stared up from his cup of tea, unable to look away from the half-naked doctor, no matter how much his breeding is begging him to.

"Ah-le-le..~ I told you to put some clothes on."

_Oh god. Aisha's gonna kill me for that, oh well. At least now, the ice is broken, ne?_

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_Reviews are huggled and sexually assaulted. *^* Also, the box is a yandere. Tell it you love it or else it'll break into your house and tear your waifu in half. =3=_


	5. Chapter IV

**Shortest update ever. I promise. Just not feeling up to writing as of late, though this chapter is a very crucial turning point in the story. ****-3- Thank for all of Gunpowder's readers. You people are awesomesauce. Just cause. **

**Special shout-out to Breathless Abyss and Desuchi, I think they alone could encourage me to keep writing forever. So thanks. **

**d(o3o)b**

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_**Instead of the large box, the meaningless story was put in the small one**_

_**But wait a minute!**_

_**If I'm Romeo, then this tale must be a tragedy.**_

_- Another: Romeo and Cinderella_

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Finally dressed in laces and a long, stiff petticoat, much to Chung's glee and her chagrin, Aisha nervously went down the stairs, holding the sides of her 'date' dress, as her blonde friend had so childishly dubbed her monster of a gown. The red-headed farmer couldn't help but look up at her as she descended, absolutely mesmerised at her gentle, sophisticated beauty. She was wearing a lavender summer dress, with lace sleeves that drew intricate flowers and designs on her bare pale skin. The fabric at the bodice was ruched, creating the image of a…better endowed chest, and to finish it off, it was tied at the back by a silken ribbon, whose tails reached the lady's heel.

She was beautiful- much more beautiful than Elsword had thought her to be; and he already thought her the most beautiful being he had ever seen. Ever since they have spent time on the farm that will be his once he turns twenty-five, he discovered so many things to love about her: her jingling laugh, her infinite pool of quips and sarcasm, the ways her eyes widen in honest delight whenever he showed her something of his- like those drawings he did when he was in convent school- all these and much more contribute to the young male's attraction. She was genuinely interested in him, as no one else seemed to be. She was everything he could ever possibly want.

However, with that thought, what little courage he managed to gather earlier had flown out the window into the bright morning light. The nervous atmosphere that the earlier scene had managed to successfully diffuse returned with a murderous vengeance. The doctor calmly sat next to the boy who, realising the full effect of her presence, went rigid and sat stiffly at the wooden table, rummaging furiously through his brain for words to say- perhaps he could complement her on how gorgeous she looked; or strike up a conversation about the sunny weather, and then slowly ease into an invitation to spend the day together- it was all too confusing and difficult, and her being there in front of him, like a dream- all too hard for him to let go, but much harder to grasp; is truly not helping his muddled brain.

It was the medical practitioner that decided to break the silence. "What are you here for, Elsword? Are you hurt in some manner?" She whispered in her professional voice, looking the man straight into the eyes, ready to gauge whether he was concealing hidden concerns or not.

How could he explain to her that the reason why he was here was not of any bodily pain, but of the ache he gets whenever he watches her leave him? His heart lurched every time they parted, as if he would never see her again. Watching her horse depart his hacienda, it was almost like he was wrapped in amorous torture, his entire being pleading fates silently for some catastrophe- a rainstorm, an earthquake- anything that would make her horse turn around, and in turn, make her stay for a while longer. When beseeching the higher powers to intervene on his behalf did not work, he took matters into his own hands. He resolved to tell her of his affection, but every time was trounced by cowardice and fear and the immense awe of her plum eyes. Now that he has the opportunity to tell her of his infatuations, he found himself unable to speak.

"He wants to marry you, that's why~!" A shrill voice from upstairs cheerfully spoke up, eliciting a cry of outrage from the doctor, and shocking ever-growing blush on the young man's face.

"I'm sure that's not why he's here, Chung. Don't be silly." Aisha suggested nervously, looking at the red-head for confirmation, quickly putting her tea-cup to her mouth to hide the embarrassing blush on her face.

Quickly swallowing a lump on his throat, he hastily mumbled, "Well, she's not too far off…" under his breath, hoping to the gods above that she heard him.

"W-what?"

Taking in a breath, he said in a steady voice, "I came to court you, Miss Middleford." Elsword finally managed to say it, his face serious and his crimson eyes looking her with such admirable intensity that Aisha swore she felt her knees buckle a little.

"E-Elsword…why so sudden..? I mean…it's not that your affections are not…a-appreciated, but…" the doctor stuttered horribly, the sudden declaration of adoration stunning her usual gracefulness to the point of utter clumsiness. The tea cup that the young lady was holding dropped from her hands and rolled across the table, splashing the mantelpiece with peppermint tea.

"It's not sudden, Aisha. I've admired you ever since that first day." The suitor softly confessed, taking the blushing lady by the hand. "I remember being so shocked when I first saw you. I couldn't believe that you could exist- a gorgeous woman with infinite knowledge and kindness, with a pinch of sarcasm on the side. It was exactly what I have wanted to find in someone I'll spend my life with."

"I-I truly...don't know...what to say…"

"Give me your permission to court you. I want to show you how much I love you, but at the same time, I want to make certain of your feelings too. I wish to marry you, but not unless I am sure that you love me just as much."

Turning her head so that he won't see her blush get deeper, she nodded her approval.

Chung, after eavesdropping on such a dream-like confession of love, was startled from her hiding place at the top of the staircase when her mistress called for her. The doctor wanted a basket prepared, with some sandwiches, some drinks, and some snacks. Cheerfully smiling, the little maid dashed off to the kitchen to prepare it for her. The couple stayed in the kitchen, silently basking in the warmth of the sun, and the glow of the reciprocated emotions. After the maid had prepared the food basket, filled with some smoked salmon sandwiches, a bottle of wine, and some hors d'oeuvre, the pair set off, talking, laughing, and enjoying love at its finest.

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Amidst the light, a dark figure watched them gleefully. Through the trees, her face was illuminated by the sun, to reveal the darkness that surrounded her. Chuckling lightly, she was pleased. Her plans are all going to accord- all the piece are doing exactly as she want them to. Smiling deviously, she took a bite out of her black apple and gestured for her summoning staff. Her familiar- a sort of round creature with bat wings, tossed her weapon carelessly. The dark stranger smirked as she felt the sharpness of her blade scratch the deathly-pale skin on the back of her hand. Blood came trickling out, and the sight of the red substance made the witch even more excited. Licking the fluid maliciously, she smirked.

It's time to roll up the curtains on romance, and set the stage for such a delicious revenge. All the people that betreyed her will pay with their life, just as they ruined her. Turning to return to her realm, she could be heard whispering poisonous words;

"I'll drown them all in the scent of gunpowder perfume."

* * *

Review box feels lonely. Give it a hug unless you want to be cut with a linoleum knife. o3o


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